Riddle me this
by AirborneGirl
Summary: Yet another take on A tangled Webb. Harm and Mac each think about the answer to Mac's question. Rated T for some strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**Riddle me this**.

**AN**: This is a story I wrote some time ago, which I just stumbled across. And I wondered why I never published it. Time to correct the mistake.

**ANII:** I was so frustrated when I watched "A Tangled Webb, part II". It just screams for a rewrite. OK, it's not the first try, won't be the last, but hey, indulge. I know most of you are just as unhappy with this episode as I (still) am.

In my world, there were no disturbing phone-calls...

**Spoilers**: A Tangled Webb, part II (duh)

**Disclaimer**: All standard disclaimers apply. I mean, realy, if it was me at the helm, would I have written such FUBAR episodes?

_This should make you feel a lot better (hopefully), so here we go..._

_Harm's POV_

Of all the surreal situations I've ever been in in my life, this one definitely takes the cake. And believe me, I've seen my share of surreal situations. So what makes this one so different?

I guess it's the culmination of it all. Of everything ever happening or not happening between us for the past eight years. Leaping from one missed chance to the other, adding insult to injury but never able to set the other one free.

Right now, I can feel her beautiful eyes setting upon me. She's laying next to me, bruised and battered, but thankfully alive and it's all I need to know.

We've shared closer quarters than this, in much less comfortable situations and locations, but this time, it's not the situation, nor the location, that makes this close contact so unbarable. It's us. No shit.

Even though she's as far away from me as the bed will allow her to be, I don't even have to lift a finger to be able to touch her. It would be so easy to draw her in and never let her go. I nearly lost her this time and that single thought still scares the living daylights out of me. What would I ever do without her?

Still, as physically easy as this appears to be, it's anything but. All because of that one question. _Why?_ One small word. A simple word. The word most often used by any regular four-year-old. And, again like most kids that age, the question, innocent in itself, can cause terrible emberrasment when asked at a wrong time, as I believe any parent can relate to. I've always wondered where, for instance, Bud and Harriet come up with excuses and bogus answers to little AJ's ill-timed questions.

But Mac's not a four year old AJ and with her, no other answer but the plain and simple truth will suffice. She won't let me back out. Not this time. This time it'll make all the difference, the result irreversable: I either win her over forever or face the reality of losing her to Webb. Both thoughts scare me.

Why am I so scared to answer her question? Oh great, another question that starts with "why". Another question I don't know how to answer. Okay, so I do know, but the spiral of being afraid only starts there, opening Pandora's box, making me dust off all skeletons in my overstuffed closet and put them all on public display.

And still, even if normally I would have backtracked by now, trying to steer clear away from any awkward subjects, I'm still here. Maybe because we're so close in this room, this bed, this situation, that something tells me not to look for the emergency exit just yet.

Lots of why's, lots of buts. So much to explain, so little grasp of the jumble of thoughts that have the explanation somewhere inside. Why can't this be a courtroom, where my goals are as clear as the road I mapped out to get there? Damn, here I go with the "why" again.

Well, I guess I have to start somewhere. Can't get to point B if you are scared shitless about leaving point A...Here we go, concentrate, focus, GO: curtain no. 1, please.

Why did I resign my commission and travel thousands of miles to a corrupt and dangerous country just to save her six? Easy, I know this one. Hell, she knows this one (does she?). Because I'm nowhere without her. Because the thought of never seeing her again, never being able to hold her, laugh with her, talk to her again nearly killed me. Because she's more important to me than my own life.

Because I love her.

But if that's all too clear, then why just don't tell her that? They're only three little words after all, people have been saying them to each other for years, decades, centuries. People of every race, kind, religion and social status have found the one to say the words to and made a life with said person. Sometimes succesful, sometimes not, but at least they were willing to take their chances. So why o why can't I?

Because I'm scared. Hey, getting a hang of it now.

Why am I scared?

Because she might not love me back. Because if I tell her about the true depths of my feelings for her, she might run for her life. She had a point with that cow, you know. Bitter as her comment was, deeply as it stung, it had a hideous ring of truth in it. That cow was surely not the first female I chased away.

In the light of that revelation, I'd rather settle for her friendship than putting it at risk by telling her more than she needs to know.

Huh, must be a lawyer thing. The settling, I mean. A lawyer always tries to settle when he's not sure if he's gonna be happy with a court's judgment. And Mac is one formidable judge, both inside and outside of the courtroom. I always believed that when facing Mac in whatever capacity, it's better to settle. For friendship when you want love. For sex with meaningless interchangable women when you want to make love to the one and only.

Nope, not a lawyer thing after all, just a Harmon Rabb thing. A chicken thing, Mac would probably say.

Back to the list at hand. Where were we? Oh yes, I remember: why would I think she'd run?

Because I would, if I was her. I mean, look at me. Really look at me. Disregard the outside for a moment if you please. It's not the outside I'm worried about. I'm well aware that the outside can and does attract women even when I'm pushing forty, and especially with the uniform. Though I'm never to be found again in that piece of clothing. Oh well, you never know.

But back to the subject, other than the outside, I got little to offer. Sure, I'm not retarded (present situation does not prove the opposite), I'm a fairly good lawyer and I can fly a plane...so freakin' what? I also got issues with a formally MIA dad, a dead Mac look-a-like would-be girlfriend, a half-brother whom I only a few years ago learned about and with whom I can't seem to form a friendship, let alone a bond, a rocky aviator career in which I managed to kill my own RIO, a never properly acknowledged stepfather, a horrendous list of miserably mismatched ex-girlfriends, all of the above resulting in surprisingly low self-esteem, hidden beneath a veil of cocky arrogant flyboy.

In conclusion: anybody, including myself, would run like the wind and never look back. Most of them did.

Next to me, Mac stirs in her sleep. It's been minutes ago (I couldn't tell you how many, since I'm not the one with the internal Swiss clock) since I was supposed to give her an answer and apparently she hasn't managed to stay awake waiting for it. But she's still there, close enough for me to touch, to smell the soap she used in the bathtub. Yep, she's still there.

Then it dawns on me. Not like the proverbial ton of bricks falling over, but rather having them lifted from my shoulders, my chest, my eyes to clear away the ever present obstruction of both air and view I've had since shaking her hand in the president's rose garden.

I'm a fool. I knew that of course, don't need a ton of bricks to admit that, but I'm an even bigger fool than I knew before. She's still here. Unlike any of the women I have known and cared for (though not loved), she's here. Despite of my long list of issues, despite of the equally long one of her own, we've come this far and still, she's here. Without even doing anything, she just proved me wrong. Proved my whole mulling to be redundant.

I don't have to think she'll run. I've given her ample opportunity, ample reason to do just that. I teased, goaded, stabbed and fought her to fulfill the self-fulfilling prophecy. To make her run and then blame myself instead of waiting for her to run. That's my MO, since it gives me at least the advantage of timing and preparing the actual breaking-up. I'd rather punish myself for pushing someone away than feel sorry for myself when I'm dating a woman and she leaves me anyway. Does that make sense at all? It did to me for so many years, I swear...

And even though she has at some moments been close to taking the bait and doing what she was supposed to do, she is so much a Marine, she's even too stubborn to see this through the way she's expected to. Instead, even after this last hurdle, we're sleeping in the same bed.

In fact, besides for measuring my every snide comment with one of her own, this thick pig-headed beautiful creature hasn't as much as flinched,. She's right here. So if she can still stand me, after all I've put her through, why would she run now? Hell, she practically begged me to come clean. Why would I think the truth (the one she knows) would scare her? Maybe, just maybe, the truth is that she does love me too.

Suddenly, I'm no longer scared. I have no reason to. Though the fact that it's all so clear to me now is a whole new scary thought on his own. But like the holy grail, this truth, this revelation is here for the taking. And so is she.

Maybe she's gonna kick my six for disturbing the first real peacefull sleep she's had in days, but I'm willing to take my chances. My answer will hopefully pacify her.

OK, deep breath, here goes nothing. Gently, I nudge her shoulder, before allowing myself to steal a kiss now that's she's not fully awake yet. She stirs a little, calls out my name in an incredibly sexy, sleep-laden voice.

"Harm?"

"Sarah? Sarah, wake up. I know the answer to your riddle."

THE END OF PART ONE


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two: riddles remain**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, wouldn't ever treat them as badly as their real owners did. They'd get a much better home with me. Can I keep them? Please? No? Oh well...

_Mac's POV _

Did you ever have too many things happen to you at the same time? One experience even more off radar than the next? Have you ever been totally overwhelmed? For a long time, that hadn't happened to me and I honestly thought that it never again would. It was a promise I made myself after my rocky childhood and alcohol-obscured adolescence. Nowadays, I am a pro, I can handle anything any person throws at me.

How wrong can a person be?

Here I am, in the least romantic spot on the planet. I just played the part of a pregnant wife of an arms expert and sales rep., who is in fact a CIA spook while I am in fact a Marine Lieutenant Colonel. All in a day's work, I guess.

But if this isn't enough to rock your boat, don't worry, there's more to come. We were found out, we got caught, my so-called husband got tortured within an inch of his life, we got rescued, I crashed in an airplane hired from a German mennonite, soon after taking out 100 stinger rockets...your head spinning yet?

Wait, there's still more. Like I said, we got rescued. By one, OK, two men, but one in particular. That man is lying right next to me. Close enough to touch, distant enough not to even try it. No matter how much I want to and always wanted to. No matter how much in love I am with him.

There, I said it. This man, Harmon Rabb Jr., with all of his faults and attractions, his vices and his virtues is the man I've been in love with from practically day one. The man that makes any other man I ever dated before and especially since I met him all but fade away as if they were not even man enough to stand in his shadow. Which goes for Clayton Webb as well.

I know he saw me kissing the spook. I even have to admit that I'm beginning to like Clay. But he still doesn't hold a candle to Harm, even though I know now that Clay didn't have to put up much of an act when he portrayed himself as a devoted husband. At least he didn't have to fake some feelings of love.

With Harm, it's an entirely different story though. Oh, I'll never accuse him of acting or pretending, but he's miles away from being Mr. Honesty. Nope, this man should win the "Mr. Evasive" competition with the same ease as Lance Armstrong won seven tours _(AN: Sorry – Had to put it in there. As we are both cancer survivors, he's one of my rolemodels, as is CB actually)._

I asked him a question seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. Only one word, only one answer I needed to hear, but it took him long to give it. And I started thinking he was pulling back. Not too surprisingly.

That's our MO, you know, both his and mine if I'm totally honest. We don't address. After seven years, there's a whole herd of elephants in either one of our rooms, but even as they grow into mammoths we won't face them, won't lift a finger or raise our voice to get rid of them.

Instead, we assume (the wrong) things, draw (the wrong) conclusions and end up taking (the wrong) actions. It has brought us nowhere so far and I would have never believed it would ever get us anywhere, except as far away from the other one as possible.

Still, when I asked, I was hoping he would answer truthfully. All he had to do was tell me why. Why he had plunged headfirst into a very dangerous game of tag to come and save my skin. Right, _all _he had to do. Doing anything that is reckless, unprepared and totally rediculous is apparently easier for this man than explaining the reasons behind his actions. This is no exception and I should have known.

Next to me, except for some heavy breathing (is he ill?) it remains silent, as expected and feared. It tears at my heart, makes me rethink everything I thought I knew about him, myself and our less-than-stable friendship.

Even if I should have known about his evasiveness, it doesn't mean I actually grasp the reason. Why can't he answer a question? Why does it take him so much time to figure out?

Another realisation dawns on me, one that catches my heart in a suffocating, cold, steel grip. The pain is palpable and I every muscle I know about and some I didn't tense up inside just to keep me from screaming. What if he does know the answer, but is holding it back as not to make matters worse? Sure, as if that could happen...

What if the answer is obvious to him, but he doesn't want me to know? What if the only real reason he's here is because he can't help but be himself, thus being the hero? What if this whole sordid messy relationship isn't about who's in love with whom, but mainly or even only because he swore loyalty to his country, his flag, his president and basically all the American population and I just happen to be one of them? Surely more important because of our close (working) relationship, but not so much as to make a clear distinction?

Question is: What if this is simply him being officer and gentleman?

Could it really be that he was nothing but a friend all this time? A friend who likes to flirt with me and mess with my head like he does with lots of other women in his life? Am I the only one who took it to mean more than it really was, just because we work so closely togther?

If that's the truth, plain and simply, then what about the compliments he's been dishing out just now. Are they only meant as just a compliment, without the innuendo? In the same way he would compliment Bud on his recovery, or Sturgis after a nice game of hoops? And the crux of the matter: if that's all there is, can I handle it?

Can I handle him not loving me? Somehow it never occurred to me that...that what? That he doesn't love me? Or at least not in the way I love him? Way to go on the ego, Marine. There are men immune to your charm after all, aren't there? Pity it includes Harm.

I always told myself that Harm did love me, but was just too guarded, for whatever reason, to ever come clean about his feelings. Somehow, it was the only answer that would suffice. Well, except for the BIG CONFESSION, but from Harm, I always just took what I could get, knowing it would have to be enough.

As for the part he could never give me, I just picked compensation. All of them had something to offer, something I wanted, a piece of the puzzle of the life I wanted to get. At the time, I didn't know or just couldn't care what pieces they wanted from me in return. Dalton offered me a the career, the money… he wanted a pretty face to show off with. Mic offered me the life I thought I wanted, he wanted my life, my independence. Without knowing, they asked what I could never give them.

And for a while, I thought about making the same mistake again, planning to turn Clayton Webb into one of them, a new addition to the 'distractions from Harm Rabb' list. Now I know it won't happen. None of the other distractions ever worked, so why would he? And why would I again want to be so unfair to a guy, pretending to be interested while keeping an eye on the real object of my desire? Not one of them deserved to be used like that and occasionally I'm really ashamed of myself.

All the while it remains quiet next to me, even his breathing seems to even out. Has he just fallen asleep on me? Is he so relaxed that he forgot about the question alltogether? Or does he think so little of it, of me, that it doesn't warrant an answer?

More likely, he's brooding, maybe to fabricate a way to let me down easily. How can he know that it doesn't matter anymore, that I'm crushed either way?

I stir and turn around, trying to get comfortable without alarming Harm. He probably thinks I've fallen asleep, and I'd like to keep it that way, for now. If he's really about to tell me I was wrong all along, that he doesn't think of a home with a white picket fence, a dog and 2.6 kids with me, I'd like to face it in broad daylight, so I can put on some sunglasses, feign indifference, and maybe walk into Neverland with the spook who loves me. Pretend to have a life to go back to.

Obstinately, I close my eyes, willing the much needed sleep to come and consume me. Even nightmares are more than welcome if they can chase away the pain of today's events and particularly its sad conclusion.

And maybe I did fall asleep, because next thing I know, I feel his hand on my shoulder and (WHAT?) his lips covering mine in a kiss that's so featherly light and so endlessly tender that I just know it has to be a dream. Harm doesn't love me like that. I have to remember.

Sigh. Here goes nothing. Here comes the answer that I do need, but don't want to hear. I brace myself and turn to him, calling his name in a raspy voice that doesn't quite hide my emotions.

"Harm?"

"Sarah? Sarah, wake up. I know the answer to your riddle."

THE END

Frustrating, huh? Not sure about a sequel or continuance yet...Maybe I'll leave it as it is.


End file.
